


Her mother, Elizabeth

by ko_writes



Series: Buttons and her life she can't remember [1]
Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, Blood, Depression, Desert Bluffs, Gen, Medication, Mother-Daughter Relationship, Pre-Strex, Strexcorp, Strexcorp is Evil, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-18
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 23:43:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4368899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannah's mother led an interesting life, she thought. </p><p>A drabble about an OC I RP as, Hannah; but this is her mother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her mother, Elizabeth

   Elizabeth was a strong woman; she had been that way as long as she could remember. Her family was well-regarded amongst society, being descended from lords and earls, as well as using their wealth and power for the sake of the people.

   They did exploit the superior educational systems given to them, however; a thirst for knowledge being a family trait.

   Elizabeth was never quite as shining as the rest of her family, but they loved her as much as she did them, and that was enough.

   Her family had also been given the rights to justice and Military Intelligence. Elizabeth didn’t like this one bit.

   The knights of old fascinated her; the ornate broadsword passed down to her was used hundreds of years ago, a small smear of dried blood could still be seen. She preferred that to guns and bombs and guerrilla warfare; a sword was swift and elegant and beautiful; not like the modern era.

   One night, she simply had enough. Leaving a short note, ‘I’m not in danger, I simply have no desire to be here anymore – Elizabeth’, she packed up what she could in her backpack and left the family’s townhouse.

   She took clothes, her glasses, some old books, and her wallet; and that was all. She could buy things, her bank account held all her wages, the payments, the bribes from certain clients to hide pieces of information that weren’t vital to the operation but could destroy them; all amounting to over fifty million British pounds.

   Fifty million pounds, seventy eight million and fifty thousand US dollars, over seventy two million euros, over nine billion yen; she could go anywhere, do anything.

   But she didn’t go anywhere and do anything; she went to a small desert town in America. She went to Desert Bluffs, and led a normal life; well, she fought librarians, but no one had any clue that she was rich.

   She bought a sweet little house and decorated it with flowers - any that would survive - and had a vegetable patch. She met a man, she fell in love, they got married, they had a child… and he left.

   But she still had Hannah, her beautiful child. Such a pretty girl with miss-matched eyes and a carefree spirit; Hannah chased the looming black dog away with crayons and baby toys and painting her own bedroom walls the colour of rainbows.

   Hannah loved to read, like her, took in all the knowledge she could, like her and her family back in England, spoke the queen’s English even though she was born in the little American town. Elizabeth and Hannah weren’t always accepted, due to their knowledge and thirst for more of that forbidden fruit, but they had each other.

   Years rolled by, as they often do, and Hannah began going to school, she’d spend more time in the library; and one day Hannah ran in with a sparkling smile on her face and the news a parent always wants to hear, she made a friend.

   Kevin also entered her life and slotted into place effortlessly. He’d always be at Hannah’s side, or Hannah at his; no one could tell. If Hannah was home, he would often enter the house like he lived there himself and either whisk Hannah away on adventures or just do whatever they were doing. Elizabeth often found herself baking treats for the children while they giggled over what children usually giggled about, and she felt like everything was so perfect.

   Time and years flew by, and her little girl matured into a beautiful young lady who knew exactly what silverware to use at dinner and how to hold a glass according to her drink; Elizabeth insisted she didn’t have to, but they both enjoyed that refined culture.

   Then, the black dog that had never gotten closer than nipping at her heels, dug its teeth into her child.

   Hannah was very ill; mood swings, insomnia, loss of appetite, days where she couldn’t even leave her bed. The young lady never cried in front of her, but she could her soft crying and the occasional muffled sob emanate from behind the thin walls of her desert house. Hannah, her child, was sick.

   Elizabeth and Kevin helped her as well as they could; both wanted to see the smiling girl who chased butterflies, or the demure young lady who would belong with royalty. The girl had a smile that Elizabeth swore shone in the dark; the lady had a smile, a delicate upturn of painted lips or a grin or a sarcastic smirk, that Kevin swore was worthy of a queen, a smiling goddess – call the Louvre, Mona Lisa has been outdone!

   Hannah goes to doctors, talks to therapists, takes each medication with dedication to achieving a healthy state of mind again, and a stoic determination that showcases the family’s ‘stiff upper lip’ ways. Elizabeth isn’t sure if she hates how much Hannah is becoming like one of them, even with no contact, or if she loves her for it.

   One day, they’re sitting in the garden. Kevin helped the fragile lady that was once – no, still was, just ill – Hannah to sit at the patio table. Her toes scrunch in the sand, chaffing her soft skin, and Elizabeth soothes her until she stops. All three sit, drinking punch and lemonade, sandwiches lay out on a tray, but Hannah doesn’t eat until Kevin takes a triangle and slowly convinces her to let him feed it to her. Then, without warning, one corner of Hannah’s lips quirk and she points to the desert rose. “Butterfly,” She whispers, voice scratchy from disuse, “But I don’t think I can catch it.”

   It feels like a dawn after a long night, a small ray of hope. Hannah falls asleep against Kevin’s shoulder and he carries her back to her room, quickly changing her nightclothes with averted eyes.

   Elizabeth knows Kevin doesn’t let the strain he’s feeling show, just as she doesn’t, so puts a hand on his shoulder and asks if he wants some cake and/or coffee. Kevin nods, offering a tired smile.

   Hannah starts to get a little better, Elizabeth thinks she’ll get that perfect existence back, Kevin lectures her about how an existence can never be perfect and that existence itself is a lie, as he usually does as the town’s voice, and looks like he’s beginning to relax.

   Then, the helicopters come. And StrexCorp. And the events bleed together until the citizens start to fight back; Hannah and Kevin break into the radio station and barricade the door. They relay instructions, organise as much as they can, give any messages they are instructed to via text or email. Elizabeth is proud her family’s blood thrums through Hannah’s veins.

   Elizabeth fights gallantly, broadsword flailing and crossbow firing, and it feels like her ancestors did all that time ago.

   She fights, she kills, she doesn’t mind.

   But then, there’s a pain in her abdomen, and she’s falling. She sees a smoking, yellow gun.

   She struggles to breath, gasping, watching the others fight with glassy eyes as a tear rolls slowly from her eye, slipping to the side, over her temple, and into her dark hair. The hair Hannah inherited.

   “Mum!” A familiar cry. Oh no.

   And Hannah’s there, trying to get her blood-saturated jacket off.

   “W-what are you…?” She’s breathless; she won’t be here much longer.

   “It doesn’t matter. You’re going to be fine, mum; we’ll… we’ll just –”

   Bullet’s fire and the light is dimming in her eyes. “I am so proud of you,” She gasps stroking Hannah’s cheek and leaving a smear of crimson.

   Her hand falls away, and her breathing is more difficult.

   “Hannah! Elizabeth!” Kevin screams, and suddenly he’s there also.

   More gun fire. She’s going still.

   “I’m sorry, Elizabeth,” She hears Kevin whisper, then a command, “Hannah, we have to go!”

   “No!!!” Hannah’s scream is deafening, “Don’t go, mum! Don’t leave me alone!!!”

   And with her last breath, Elizabeth whispers, “You aren’t alone.”

   And those are her last words.

* * *

 

   Hannah stares at her hollow eyes in her reflection. The bathroom is far too bright, far too pale, making her look sickly. Her ribs poke out from tanned skin and her cheekbones are far too sharp. Her eyes are bruised and exhausted, yet no one notices. She is alone.

   The radio plays and that voice - that _stupid_ voice - echoes around her empty house with dying flowers on the lawn.

   She growls, guttural and raw, and sends the mirror, which was once hanging lazily on the wall, to the floor. And it smashes. And she stares at the pills resting beside her on the self.

   They’re so artificially glacial and yellow, they look like candy. And she takes her dose because she doesn’t want to be put through training again, doesn’t want to be in the dark again.

   Her cheeks are painful as the gashes bleed onto her yellow and orange clothes.

   The guy on the radio – _Kevin_ – will not _shut up_!

   Soon, the radio joins the mirror on the floor, and the voice stops.

   She is alone.


End file.
